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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845010">he's the last true mouthpiece</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambirouge/pseuds/bambirouge'>bambirouge</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Future, Forced Cohabitation, Language Barrier, M/M, Secrets, Sleeptalking, but not too far into the future just a lil bit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:07:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambirouge/pseuds/bambirouge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sicheng has only gotten more anxious over the past few days, although he’s trying to hide it from Yuta. But sharing such a small space means that Yuta picks up on things he might not notice otherwise, and though Sicheng is quiet in volume, his body is as transparent as wet rice paper.</p><p>Which is to say, Yuta is afraid that if he touches him, he’ll tear.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>126</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>he's the last true mouthpiece</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello!! this is v old and I am excited to finally let it see the light of day</p><p>enjoy &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rain hasn’t stopped for three days, now.</p><p>Sicheng spends all of his time looking out the window and Yuta spends all of his time looking at Sicheng. Sicheng, who got a papercut yesterday from the book he’s been reading and took his finger into his mouth, who must’ve felt Yuta staring at him from the other side of the room as he did it.</p><p>It’s been two months.</p><p>Two months since Yuta shucked the title of <em> revolutionary </em> and shouldered the identity of <em> deserter </em>, two months since he’s stepped foot outside this fucking ramshackle cottage in the middle of God-knows-where. Yuta can’t decide if having Sicheng with him is helping or hurting—it’s bad enough that Sicheng reminds him of everything he’s given up; worse that he hasn’t said a word to Yuta since he grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the riots in Osaka.</p><p>Not that Yuta could understand him if he did. Yuta quit trying to learn Mandarin when he was twelve and wishes more than ever that he could travel back in time to kick himself in the shins.</p><p>But Yuta can’t deny that Sicheng’s presence is keeping him from going <em> really </em> fucking crazy, despite the silence. It’s been two months and Yuta has thought himself into stupidity, into absolute boredom, but at least he doesn’t feel insane when he speaks out loud and receives no response.</p><p>“Wha—” Yuta swipes his fingers across his forehead where he’d felt the droplet, then squints at the ceiling. “Shit. <em> Fuck. </em>”</p><p>Sicheng looks up from his post at the window.</p><p>“We have a fucking leak,” Yuta says, pointing to the ceiling. He goes to the cupboards by the sink but the only thing in them is an old cooking pan, the one they use when the other one isn’t clean. Yuta glances at the dishes in the sink, then takes the skillet and goes back to the table where he’d been sitting.</p><p>“Hope this whole place doesn’t flood,” he says, grinning. Sicheng looks worried. “It probably won’t,” Yuta continues. “The rain’s gotta stop at some point, right?”</p><p>Sicheng still looks bothered despite Yuta’s cheerful demeanor, frowning and pressing his lips together. They’re chapped. Yuta can tell from his place at the table.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Yuta tells him as he leans back in his chair. Sicheng exhales slowly and goes back to his book.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>Five days and the rain hasn’t stopped.</p><p>Yuta had to resort to using their other pan yesterday, strategically placed to collect two steady drips from the ceiling over their broken fridge. A new leak started this morning, right in the middle of the living room, but Yuta is choosing to ignore it. He can’t give up their only pot just yet.</p><p>It’s stupid, Yuta feels stupid, but he can’t help thinking that the world is crying over what’s happening to it. He wouldn’t blame it for doing so. He’s past the point of dreaming about Osaka every night but the violence...the violence. If he hadn’t been trapped in a cottage with a stranger he would’ve cried over the violence for weeks and weeks—so he can understand why the planet seems to be stuck in some sort of endless mental breakdown, an unyielding gush of tears. That, or it’s trying to flush them out completely. Submerge them like rats in a sewer drain.</p><p>Sicheng has only gotten more anxious over the past few days, although he’s trying to hide it from Yuta. But sharing such a small space means that Yuta picks up on things he might not notice otherwise, and though Sicheng is quiet in volume, his body is as transparent as wet rice paper.</p><p>Which is to say, Yuta is afraid that if he touches him, he’ll tear.</p><p>But Yuta keeps talking anyway; keeps his distance, but keeps trying.</p><p>“You need anything?” he calls to Sicheng, who’s sitting at the window. He’s still reading the same book with the black and white cover although it doesn’t look very thick. “Noodles? Beans? Extra can of peaches, maybe?”</p><p>Sicheng’s dark eyes flick over to him, then back to the window.</p><p>“Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Be right back with that!” Yuta rolls his eyes and yanks at the handle of the cellar door. “You’re <em> such </em> a fun roommate.”</p><p>He climbs down the creaky ladder and yanks on the chain attached to the light, exhaling a <em> thank fuck </em> when the he sees the floor is still dry. There’s only one box packed full of noodles left so Yuta decides to save them for another time, instead reaching for a package of whole-wheat crackers. He’s started to ration, subconsciously at first, but now it’s become a habit. He doesn’t know how long they’ll be stuck here.</p><p>“Whoa,” he murmurs, checking on the date of the crackers.</p><p><em> Best by 14 June 2028. </em>A feeling like a tornado starts up in the pit of his stomach but he forces it down. June 14th, June 14th.</p><p>“Hey, I found some fucking ancient crackers. I wonder exactly how stale—” Yuta peeks out from the cellar to find Sicheng facing away from the window, instead looking toward him. “What?”</p><p>Sicheng motions to somewhere behind him and Yuta turns his head. He hears a steady <em> tap-tap-tap </em> but it takes him a second to realize there’s another leak, a fast one, right over his sleeping mat on the floor.</p><p>“Asshole,” he growls at Sicheng, climbing the rest of the ladder. “You could’ve just moved it, but that’s too much work for you, huh?” He grabs the mat and drags it to the side where the water isn’t hitting it. The silence from Sicheng feels busy like it does when Yuta knows he wants to say something, but, as always, it remains just that. Silence.</p><p>“I don’t have half the fucking patience to deal with that or you right now,” Yuta says, mostly to himself this time. He lets the leak go, takes the crackers to the kitchen, and sits on the counter—which he only does occasionally, if he does it too much it’ll become nothing more than another simple action and cease to remind him so vividly of his own kitchen, of the things he did in his kitchen, of waiting for Taeil to pass by so he could hook his legs around Taeil’s waist—</p><p>Yuta lifts a cracker to his mouth and bites down hard, frowning as it separates like wet cardboard on his tongue. He’s always liked the soft-spoken types. Maybe he should be careful what he wishes for.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>It’s been seven days and Yuta is wondering if he should start building an Ark.</p><p>He listens to the rain coming down, <em> splat, splat, splat </em> on the thatched roof of the cottage. He misses the <em> ting-ting-ting </em> of rain on his own roof, back in the city where everything was sharp. It’s endlessly soft out here between the trees, and the night rain makes it even softer—Yuta himself feels soft, lying on his sleeping mat, staring at the ceiling. Listening to Sicheng try to fall asleep.</p><p>Yuta thought it was anxiety that was building up in Sicheng when the weather first took a turn, but lately Yuta catches dread on Sicheng’s face when he thinks Yuta’s not looking. It’s in the way he looks up from his book sometimes, just staring at the wall, one hand to his throat like he’s willing his pulse to calm down. It makes Yuta uneasy.</p><p>What’s more is that Sicheng seems to be going just as stir-crazy as Yuta is, except he’s expressing it through fidgeting and an obsession with looking out the windows. Yuta came back from fetching water this morning to find him pacing from one end of the main room to the other, completely trancelike, and Yuta’s stomach flipped over at the sight of Sicheng moving so frantically. Something about the wild humanity of his motions made Yuta feel as arrested as he was disturbed.</p><p>They’ve both had trouble sleeping but tonight Yuta is tired, tired in the real, rare way that is able to outweigh the tangle of thoughts keeping him from sleep. He’s just starting to drift off when he becomes aware of a spot of wetness on his chest—it’s another leak, the third one today.</p><p>He’s beginning to fucking lose it.</p><p>“Fuck,” he whispers, full of venom, but his frustration feels pointless. There’s a cup or a pan or a wet spot on almost every part of the floor, and it has to be a joke, someone must be laughing up there, because Sicheng’s bedroll is totally dry.</p><p>Yuta hears Sicheng shift so he props himself up on his elbows, searching for Sicheng’s outline in the darkness. He’s just about to lie back down and face defeat when he hears—</p><p>“...Yuta...”</p><p>Sicheng’s voice is quiet but it’s just as deep as Yuta remembers it from two months ago, the only time he’d heard him speak. Two syllables thrown over his shoulder as they raced down an alleyway. <em> Si-cheng </em>. The way Sicheng’s voice plays the chord of Yuta’s own name lights Yuta’s stomach on fire.</p><p>“Sicheng?” he whispers. The syllables feel familiar in his mouth, now. Yuta doesn’t say Sicheng’s name much, not out loud, but there’s a part of his mind that’s been dedicated to repeating the word over and over since Yuta learned it, like the refrain of a song he’s forbidden to sing.</p><p>“...Yuta,” comes the repetition, two more syllables to bounce off of the walls of Yuta’s skull for the days to come. Yuta squints, trying to get a better look at the man on the other side of the room, but Sicheng is still lying down, not looking in Yuta’s direction at all.</p><p>“Sleep talker,” Yuta whispers, enchanted. He’s entranced by every piece of Sicheng that he uncovers. “Dreaming about me, are you?”</p><p>
  <em> Splat. </em>
</p><p>A droplet lands on Yuta’s collarbone, cold and mocking. He grimaces at the ceiling. After one last glance at Sicheng, he pulls his covers back, goes to the kitchen, and sits on the counter. Sits there for what feels like the entire night.</p><p>It must be near morning when Sicheng follows him in.</p><p>The last of the moon’s light spilling in through the kitchen windows casts a blue glow on Sicheng’s face as he stands there in the doorway, expression determined—to do what, Yuta doesn’t know. For a long moment, they look at each other. Sicheng’s gaze is always rich, like thick, soft velvet; like cream.</p><p>“You talk in your sleep,” Yuta says sleazily, smirking. Sometimes Yuta doesn’t mind that Sicheng can’t understand him. He doesn’t have to worry about consequences that way.</p><p>Sicheng just looks down, but not all the way to the floor. Yuta tries to follow his eyes but before he can Sicheng takes hold of his wrist, gently, more gently than he did that day in Osaka, and it feels so entirely different and fragile and intimate and earnest that Yuta tenses. He looks up in question and then Sicheng tugs lightly, asking him to follow. He leads Yuta into the main room, which is now filled with nearly every liquid-holding item they were able to find in the cottage, then to the left—Sicheng’s side of the room. Sicheng leads him right over to his mat on the floor.</p><p>Yuta can’t breathe. His heart hasn’t raced like this since he took the train with Taeil so many years ago, when Taeil moved his hand slightly down on the railing so his pinky was touching Yuta’s forefinger.</p><p>Sicheng points at Yuta, then at the mat.</p><p>Yuta flounders. “You...you want me to...?”</p><p>Sicheng lets go of Yuta’s wrist and turns away, heading for Yuta’s side of the room. Yuta watches him sit down on his bedroll, shifting to the side in an attempt to miss the water from the leak. Yuta can’t stop standing, just standing there, because this is the clearest that Sicheng has spoken to him since he told him his name two months ago.</p><p>He gets down on the floor, on Sicheng’s bed. Pulls Sicheng’s blanket over himself, lies on his back, and forces himself not to press his nose into the fabric of Sicheng’s pillow and inhale like it will keep him from going out of his mind.</p><p>He falls asleep just as the sun is starting to rise.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>On the tenth day, the rain stops.</p><p>“Holy shit,” is the first thing Yuta says when he wakes up in the morning. He and Sicheng have been switching beds each night under the premise of splitting the leak burden, but to Yuta all that means is being distracted from sleep by Sicheng’s scent, and hastily covering a surprise boner yesterday morning, and trying to keep himself from hoping that Sicheng is struggling in the same way he is.</p><p>It’s thirsty work, and even the rain outside can’t satiate him.</p><p>Yuta looks to Sicheng but his bed is empty and unkempt. A cool breeze comes from the kitchen, where the back door is, and Yuta feels his adrenaline spike when he realizes it’s open. He sits up.</p><p>“Sicheng?”</p><p>There’s no answer, so he says it louder.</p><p>“Sicheng?”</p><p>Silence. Like always, but not the kind that wraps around the space of another person, no, this is the kind that bounces off the walls and lands right back in Yuta’s empty mouth. He stands and walks shakily to the kitchen. Sicheng always makes his bed. Even when he’s sleeping in Yuta’s, he always makes his bed. And he never leaves the door open.</p><p>
  <em>“Sicheng?”</em>
</p><p>Yuta’s heart is pounding as his feet hit the cold kitchen floor. It’s not safe out there, they fled for a reason—they’re not even that far from the city, and God—what if Sicheng’s trying to go back? Why would he leave now? What if—</p><p>Yuta pauses in the doorway.</p><p>Sicheng is standing on the soggy ground, toes half-covered by dirt, face turned up to the sky. Yuta has become so used to seeing him in the semi-darkness that he forgot about his first impression of Sicheng in the light of day; this ethereal being who managed to pull him from what may have been a one-way ticket to his own demise. It was dangerous for Sicheng, too, running away. How noble of him to slip anonymously into the crowd and steal away with the face of the revolution.</p><p>Revolution. Yuta feels nothing but a despair that rips at his stomach when he hears the word. What good is a revolution if it destroys both parties in the process?</p><p>Sicheng turns around at the sound of his name, his face smooth and even in a way Yuta isn’t sure he’s ever seen it.</p><p>“Yuta,” Sicheng says in that voice of his; and it’s like a potion poured into a cup, like a wave breaking against a cliff, like the rumble of thunder just before rain.</p><p>Sicheng approaches him slowly but without caution. Yuta thinks he hears music in his head for the first time in months; it swells when Sicheng takes hold of his wrist again, that same electric string wrapping tight around both their hands. Yuta is still trembling with fear and he notices Sicheng noticing it, eyes flicking down and then back up to Yuta’s.</p><p>“I thought you left,” Yuta says, and he’s never so desperately wished that Sicheng could understand him as he does now. But Sicheng hears him, and maybe that’s enough, because he squeezes Yuta’s wrist once, lightly.</p><p>Yuta can hear Sicheng’s breath when they’re this close. He’s never been able to hear it before.</p><p>He’s stock-still when Sicheng leans over and presses their mouths together. It’s neither timid nor violent, just warm, just solid and reassuring. As if Sicheng is saying, <em> this is your body, Yuta, stay in it. </em> And Yuta is <em> there </em>, he is standing outside in his bare feet and the breeze is a little cold as it plays with his shirt and the air smells wet and alive and fresh. Sicheng is kissing him and he exists, not as a symbol but as a human being.</p><p>Sicheng is the one to pull away after a long moment. Yuta feels anything but talkative after all that’s just been said; he wants Sicheng to be closer, wants the slight tug of his bottom lip. Sicheng gives his wrist one final squeeze and lets go, leaving him in the day’s first tentative rays of sunlight, and Yuta stands there—he’s been doing an awful lot of standing lately—trying to put together all of the pieces of what Sicheng was trying to say.</p><p> </p><p>///</p><p> </p><p>The day moves fast, contrary to the slow softness of those that came before it. Yuta goes outside almost every hour just to check that the sun’s still there, and it is, every time, although Yuta can’t help but feel like he’s being tricked.</p><p>Sicheng spends most of the day at the river, perched on the wet rocks at the riverside with his feet in the water. It must be cold but Sicheng stays for hours and hours; he looks like a nymph sitting there, in congruence with the pine needles and the daisies surrounding him. He’s so untouchable, Yuta thinks, and maybe he missed the mark on his original assessment of him—Sicheng is less like rice paper and more like the stained-glass windows of a cathedral.</p><p>Yuta can’t stop thinking about kissing him.</p><p>“The leak stopped,” Yuta says, standing over his sleeping mat. It’s dark out now, clear enough to see the stars, and Sicheng sits at the window as always. He looks back at Yuta now, then at the ceiling above him.</p><p>“I guess...I’ll just sleep over here tonight.” Yuta waits for a reaction from Sicheng, waits for a protest, but none comes. So he gets down on his bedroll and pulls the covers over himself.</p><p>“‘Night, Sicheng.”</p><p>“Yuta.”</p><p>The purpose in Sicheng’s voice makes Yuta look up, heart pounding <em> thump-thump-thump </em> in his ears. Sicheng is standing with his hands in his pockets. Yuta watches him cross the room until he’s close, kneeling down at Yuta’s side.</p><p>He puts his hand on Yuta’s cheek and whispers something under his breath. Yuta shivers. His thumb traces Yuta’s cheekbone, his eyes following the motion, a slight crease in his brow. Yuta is completely at his mercy but Sicheng still looks achingly breakable, and the slow blink of his dark eyelashes compels Yuta to speak.</p><p>“I’m going to get you out of here,” Yuta promises. He watches as Sicheng’s mouth bends into a cynical smile.</p><p>“笨蛋,” Sicheng replies, handing the word to Yuta like a gift, and then he leans forward to close the distance between them.</p><p>Yuta reaches for him this time, tentative when he slides a hand around Sicheng’s waist. Sicheng doesn’t protest, he just presses closer, and Yuta expects to wake up anytime soon now because the way Sicheng is biting at his lip can’t possibly be real.</p><p>Yuta doesn’t allow himself any time to talk himself out of it, he just screws his eyes shut and gives himself over. It’s pure bliss to have Sicheng’s hands on him after months of tracing the lines of his own body as he remembers Taeil’s touch, jerking off discreetly only when he’s sure that Sicheng is asleep. And Sicheng is different from Taeil in the way that he touches; he’s more urgent, rougher, more demanding. It surprises Yuta at first, but he leans in. Somehow it feels better than how anyone’s ever touched him before.</p><p>“Sicheng,” he breathes, testing the word aloud, and Sicheng blooms into his touch.</p><p>“Yuta,” comes the response again as Sicheng leans back to bear his neck. Never have the two syllables of Yuta’s own name caused such a riot in him—his whole body is alight from the friction that Sicheng’s voice and his name have created.</p><p>Yuta shoves his hands up Sicheng’s shirt and it’s only a matter of moments before Sicheng is throwing it over his shoulder. His skin is so <em> warm </em> as Yuta makes contact with it; he smooths over each plane of Sicheng’s chest with flat palms and a racing pulse. Sicheng makes such unholy noises when Yuta is touching him and in some corner of his mind Yuta realizes that this may be the most sound he’s ever heard Sicheng make—Yuta is unlocking him, undoing his mechanisms. The thought alone is enough for Yuta to lean in again to dig his teeth into Sicheng’s collarbone.</p><p>“<em>Ahh </em> —!” Sicheng unconsciously reaches up to curl a fist in Yuta’s hair and Yuta <em> moans, </em> gasping for air as Sicheng pulls again, harder, realizing what he’s just discovered.</p><p>“You’re going to be the fucking death of me,” Yuta gasps as Sicheng goes for his neck now, sliding slender hands sneaking under his shirt to remove it. Sicheng only laughs, and Yuta might kill for the ability to see what’s going on inside his head, for Sicheng to see what’s inside his. But nothing can prepare him for when Sicheng finally wrestles his shirt off and pins him to the floor by his wrists, staring down at him with parted lips and flushed cheeks.</p><p>“Fucking hell,” Yuta says, because Sicheng is a living, breathing copy of every dirty thought that’s been cooped up inside Yuta’s head for the past however fucking many months they’ve been stuck in this cottage. He’s a night terror, sitting directly on Yuta’s steadily-hardening dick, looking at him like his life’s last mission is to devour him, and all Yuta can do is watch as he leans down with an open mouth to circle his tongue around Yuta’s nipple.</p><p>Yuta bucks up into him immediately, unable to help the jerk of his hips, and it makes Sicheng whine in response. Yuta laughs lowly as he grasps Sicheng’s hips and does it again, making Sicheng raise his head to let out another tortured little sound. Yuta is drunk, no, high, from the look on Sicheng’s face; it’s almost unbearably arousing to witness such emotion from Sicheng when his mouth has remained a straight line for two whole months. Now it hangs open, lips slick and shining as he squeezes his eyes shut in a picture so pornographic that Yuta’s fantasies about him are given a run for their money.</p><p>“You like that?” Yuta says, purely on impulse, because it feels so fucking amazing to have something warm and solid to push his hardness up against that his brain goes a little fuzzy. Sicheng nods, and something somewhere yells at Yuta that the motion should alarm him, but he wouldn’t be able to stop moving even if he wanted to when Sicheng’s mouth looks like that, bottom lip now pale between his teeth.</p><p>So Yuta keeps talking.</p><p>“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says as Sicheng moves back so he can go for Yuta’s zipper. Yuta can’t be imagining the way Sicheng’s face flushes pink at his words, he just can’t, so he spouts more nonsense before he loses his nerve. “Do you know how much I want you? Because I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone this much in my fucking life, Sicheng, <em> God, </em> it’s been hell just looking at you, you have no idea what you do to me—”</p><p>Yuta inhales his words as Sicheng pulls back his underwear to press his lips to the head of Yuta’s cock, and suddenly Yuta’s hands are in Sicheng’s hair, clenching.</p><p><em> “Fuck,” </em> is all he can manage, because now Sicheng’s tongue is circling the tip, and now he’s taking the head in, and Yuta had forgotten exactly why he and Taeil fucked as wildly and as often as they did until now.</p><p>Sicheng lets out a quiet little moan as he takes more of Yuta in, building up a rhythm, and Yuta has lived for two months with a man who can use his mouth like <em> this? </em>He has half a mind to scold himself for being so cowardly but the way Sicheng is using his hand on the base of Yuta’s dick leaves no room for coherent thought, only sensation.</p><p><em> “Sicheng,” </em> Yuta groans, because he’s decided that he’ll never get tired of saying it, and it feels like each time the syllables fly from his lips they hang heavier with the weight of the arousal filling the room.</p><p>“Yuta,” Sicheng rasps, coming up for air, eyes shut as he noses at Yuta’s hip bone.</p><p>“Fuck, I wanna—c’mere—” Yuta guides Sicheng up his body so Sicheng is sitting across his lap again and begins scrabbling at the button of Sicheng’s pants. Yuta is shaking, hard, so after a moment Sicheng pushes his hand away to undo it himself, shoving his pants down just far enough for the hard curve of his cock to be exposed.</p><p><em> “God,” </em> Yuta exhales as he pauses to take in the sight before him. Sicheng’s collarbone sports a dark mark from Yuta’s teeth and his neck is shiny with Yuta’s spit. His bare chest is flushed and heaving—it’s still a disorienting experience, seeing Sicheng this out of control—and the head of his cock is as pink as his cheeks, leaking thick drops of precome onto Yuta’s stomach. Sicheng seems to be just as affected as he is because all of the sudden he’s swooping down to capture Yuta’s lips again, licking hot into his mouth, and Yuta gives it right back to him as he cups his hands around Sicheng’s face. For a moment they kiss deep and slow and dirty, so intimate that Yuta could almost convince himself that Sicheng is his lover.</p><p>“Yuta,” Sicheng whispers, and maybe they don’t need language, because every time that Sicheng says Yuta’s name it means something different.</p><p>“Sicheng,” Yuta murmurs in return, hoping that the word can convey the potency of his longing, the relief of its fulfillment.</p><p>He wets his palm, then fumbles blindly for Sicheng’s cock, unable to take his eyes off his face. Sicheng makes a pained, beautiful noise when Yuta finds it and for a moment he lets Yuta jerk him off, but it isn’t long before he’s using a gentle touch to slow his hand.</p><p>“What is it?” Yuta asks, but Sicheng is already showing him. Wordlessly, he takes Yuta’s dick in one hand and his own in the other, then presses them together.</p><p>This time it’s Yuta’s turn to exhale a moan, not only from the feeling but the image between their legs, him and Sicheng side by side. Sicheng begins to rock his hips and move his hands and then everything speeds up again; arousal sizzles at each drip of Sicheng’s wetness on Yuta’s hip, and he can see Sicheng desperately trying to keep himself from losing control completely. When Sicheng dips within reach, Yuta grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs at it, then watches as Sicheng’s eyes well up and his mouth falls open. It’s too much, all at once.</p><p>“Yuta,” Sicheng gasps, a warning and a plea.</p><p>“Sicheng,” Yuta replies, his tone teetering dangerously close to adoration. “You gonna come for me?”</p><p>“I’m going to—” Japanese suddenly spills from Sicheng’s lips but before Yuta can process it he’s coming in Sicheng’s hand, whited out, hooked on the drug of his own language on Sicheng’s tongue. He feels Sicheng follow close behind him, but he’s got his eyes squeezed shut, stomach roiling, the aftershocks of pleasure lapping at the corners of his body while an ache builds in his temples.</p><p>He imagined that, right? He was so wrapped up in Sicheng’s image that he must’ve hallucinated it. Sicheng can’t speak Japanese. Not even a word.</p><p>When he opens his eyes, the thought flies out of his head.</p><p>“Sicheng,” he breathes. He brings a hand up to Sicheng’s cheek and it comes away wet. Sicheng’s head is bowed over Yuta’s sternum, his ribs heaving in silent sobs, and at once it makes Yuta’s own chest tighten. He reaches for Sicheng again, sitting up to take a closer look at him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sicheng says, in Japanese, and Yuta’s heart freezes.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sicheng repeats, teeth bared in a grimace. He wipes his face, obscuring himself from Yuta. “I—I’m so sorry—”</p><p>Yuta shakes his head. “What are you talking about? Did you not want this?”</p><p>“No!” Sicheng meets his gaze. His eyes are red and glassy. “That’s exactly why—” He takes a breath, lowering his voice. “We can’t talk here. We’ve already given away too much.”</p><p>Yuta stares as Sicheng tucks himself back into his pants, then reaches for his shirt.</p><p>“Wha—given away <em> what? </em> Hey— <em> Sicheng!” </em> He grabs Sicheng’s wrist, halting him. “What the fuck is going on? You can’t just say shit like that and then expect me to—”</p><p>“—Yuta, please. We need to get out. You have to trust me.”</p><p>The look on Sicheng’s face is one Yuta’s only caught once—on the day they met, when Sicheng pulled him to safety. He looks like his life is depending on Yuta believing him, and that they’re in danger if they don’t act soon.</p><p>“Okay,” Yuta says. It comes out in a half-voice, small and unsteady. “But only because your dick was just touching my dick.”</p><p>Sicheng’s expression changes to annoyance, which Yuta is used to, but there’s a fondness in it now that’s unmistakable. Without a word, he dives forward to kiss Yuta, who makes a shocked little noise into his mouth. He chases Sicheng’s lips when he draws away, but Sicheng is already standing and going to his bedroll to dig around for something.</p><p>Yuta uses the corner of his blanket to wipe off the mess on his stomach and redresses, taking the hand that Sicheng offers him to help him up. Sicheng doesn’t let go when he brings him close, speaking quietly.</p><p>“Is there anything here that you might miss? We can’t come back.”</p><p>“Sicheng—”</p><p>“Please, please, just trust me. Please. It’s important.”</p><p>How earnest Sicheng looks, pleading like that. Yuta can’t say no. He squeezes Sicheng’s hand.</p><p>“There’s nothing. I didn’t bring anything here, you know that.”</p><p>“Good.” Sicheng’s eyes sweep over the cottage like he’s committing it to memory, then he pulls Yuta gently toward the door. “Come on.”</p><p>Sicheng leads him out into the night, and Yuta counts ninety-eight steps until he stops. They’re in a small clearing Yuta’s never seen before.</p><p>“Care to tell me what’s going on?”</p><p>Sicheng takes a deep breath. He reaches out shakily, slowly, to brush a stray piece of hair from Yuta’s forehead. For the first time in a long time, Yuta realizes how exhausted he looks.</p><p>“I don’t know who you think I am, but whatever it is, it’s probably wrong.”</p><p>Yuta chuckles dryly. “I think we’ve established that.”</p><p>“I know that I’ve neglected to tell you I speak Japanese. But there’s something else.”</p><p>“Well, are you going to tell me what it is?”</p><p>Sicheng sighs. He fiddles with his lower lip, looking away. “It wasn’t an accident that I found you in that crowd, Yuta. I knew you were going to be there undercover and I knew what you were going there to do.”</p><p>Yuta pales. “What?”</p><p>“Or, I knew because my organization knew. The people I work for, they—” Sicheng looks around shiftily, as if expecting someone to pop out of the trees. “It’s their business to know about people like you.”</p><p>“I’m starting to regret trusting you.”</p><p>“No, wait, just—just bear with me.” Sicheng finds Yuta’s hand again, threading their fingers together. He’s never initiated things like this before, and Yuta finds himself stunned into silence.</p><p>“My orders were simple, at first. I was told not to reveal anything, to keep my mouth shut at all costs. To keep you alive while they decided if they needed you or not.” He swallows, still on edge. “But there was a scuffle, a mole in the agency, and they put my operation on hold because they thought our situation was stable. That’s where things got...” Sicheng gives Yuta a long look, darting back and forth between his eyes. “...complicated.”</p><p>He lifts his free hand to Yuta’s jaw, thumb stroking the skin of his cheek. Yuta’s completely hypnotized, in shock, reeling as the ground shifts under him.</p><p>“By the time they told me to kill you, I knew I wouldn’t be able to.”</p><p>Yuta stares on in disbelief. “So this whole time, you—you were communicating with them?”</p><p>“While you were sleeping, sometimes. I had a radio stashed with my things.”</p><p>“And you were going to <em> kill </em>me?”</p><p><em> “Never,” </em> Sicheng insists, leaning forward. “Even in the beginning, the thought of it was—” He shudders. “Listen, I’ve been waiting to tell you because I have a friend setting up an escape route for us. She told me she’d be ready by tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait any longer. It felt dangerous to stay there.”</p><p>“Then where are we going?”</p><p>Sicheng pulls out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, the one that Yuta saw him fish out from under his pillow.</p><p>“I have a map to the meeting place. It’s far, and we’re going to have to travel in the dark. But we can make it.”</p><p>Yuta feels like the air has been punched out of his lungs. “This is crazy.”</p><p>“I know.” Sicheng bites his lip, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It wasn’t safe, I didn’t know if the cottage was bugged or not.”</p><p>“I’m just glad that—” He gazes at Sicheng in the moonlight, all blue and liquid and mystifying, and his heart seizes in his chest. In a surge of <em> something, </em> he grabs Sicheng’s waist and pulls him in, their lips meeting harshly as the quiet buzzes around them.</p><p>Sicheng lets Yuta kiss him, kisses Yuta back, but after a few moments he pushes him away with a steady hand to his chest.</p><p>“We have to get moving.”</p><p>“Such a shame.” Yuta kisses his jaw.</p><p>“I’m serious, Yuta.”</p><p>“Mm.” His tongue darts out to the space just behind Sicheng’s ear, and Sicheng gasps before shoving him back.</p><p>“I’m going to leave without you.”</p><p>“After risking your life for me? Fat chance.”</p><p>Sicheng rolls his eyes and starts off toward the trees. Yuta follows, catching up just enough to take Sicheng’s hand.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says, after several moments have passed. “For what you did.”</p><p>Sicheng fixes him with a gaze in all his stained-glass brilliance, and Yuta feels <em> human </em> again, the cottage far behind him as an extraordinary boy leads him into uncertainty.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Sicheng replies, and his voice has never sounded so beautiful.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/bambiirouge">twt</a>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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